


No Time for Death

by Madam_Red



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Borderlands the Pre-Sequel - Freeform, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Drabble, Electrocution, F/M, Mild Language, Nisha is a badass, Nisha is a terrible Medic, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 03:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10822776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Red/pseuds/Madam_Red
Summary: Another older drabble from 2015 done on my blog.Prompt; Your muse wakes from unconsciousness in the arms of a dead character.





	No Time for Death

The air was stale when she started gasping at it, and the woman could barely make out the distant wail of sirens. The world spun when she lifted her head, and Nisha’s first thought was that someone needed to place a bullet in that emergency protocol voice. 

_Warning. The hull has been breached, negative pressure eminent._

The Lawbringer tried to orientate herself— _she needed to move. Needed to get up. Get up. Fucking. Move that ass. Ain’t gunna die here. What had happened? Helios. They were shutting down the eye of Helios. They had been injecting—  
_

All at once the memories came slamming back to her and in the red lights flashing around her? She could make out the remains of the command centre they had been standing in. The hull windows were cracked, ready to buckle, and purge the contents of the room out into space.

Then she noticed a familiar cologne, and the fact the floor shouldn’t have been that comfortable. Those yellow eyes widened, and her vision wavered as she took in the sight of a broken body under her. 

No. _ **No.**_

“Jack.” Her voice rasped out. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. Nisha struggled to spread fingers against his throat to find a pulse. Her head was pounding, or was that her heart? Her hands slipped through the blood; still warm. He was still warm.

“You an’t getting the fuck out of paying me,” She husked out roughly, too many emotions in her voice to pinpoint the motivation. Was it lust? Was it loss? Was it need? Was it understanding? Admiration? “Don’t you fucking die on me, good look’n. _Don’t you die_. **The hero doesn’t die.** Ya’ here me?”

The lawbringer struggled, body burning in protest against the notion of moving. She forced herself beyond her point of breaking. _She focused on the pain._ The burning was a cruel reminder she was alive. Nisha made it to her knees, swallowing the bile in her throat as she wrapped an arm around the programmer and hauled his frame upwards. Her muscles screamed and she could feel blood dripping down her back as she threw his weight over her shoulder. One hand kept hold of him, while the other was used to catch her balance on the debris around her.

_Don’t you die._

The cracks along the hull fractured further, and she was gasping for air as she pulled his arse from the rubble. Like a demon crawling out the pits of hell. Somewhere behind her the glass ruptured, and there was a shrill hissing around her. The woman pushed forward, running on nothing more then the throbbing ache of raw determination.

She hauled them out of the control room, staggering as she fell to one knee and sprawled her employer’s body onto the floor. The woman turned, wild eyes darting back to the room behind them as the the glass exploded and an alarm hammered in to her mind. Nisha lurched forward and slammed a bloody fist into the emergency lock— watching in a stunned silence as a set of security doors slammed shut while the room beyond was ripped inside out by the vacuum of space.

She laughed, shaken, before turning back to Jack. 

In the light Nisha could make out the blood that was soaking his obnoxious yellow shirt. She moved back to his body, sinking to her knees and fumbling with the fabric to rip it clean up the middle. Her fingers dragged over the laceration along his stomach. That could be fixed. _That could be…. fixed._

She was growling as she set her hands above his chest and started throwing her weight into compressions. She had seen medics doing this, once, on Terra 3. So very long ago. _Restarting the heart._ It was so very primitive. But what choice did she have?

"You don’t,” _One, two_. “Get an easy,” _Five, six._ “Way out.” E _ight, nine._ She counted between the compressions, rasping out bitter remarks at him until she reached thirty. She thought it was thirty. Oh fuck she was bad at this saving thing. The woman wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and leaned down to force air into his mouth. His chest rose and fell with the action twice, before she returned to slamming her weight into his chest. 

 _Live, damnit?!_ She was struggling, and barely realised the irony of her own actions. When had she ever fought to keep someone **alive**?

It wasn’t working. It wasn’t working. There had to have been something else. _What else had they done?_

It was a live wire snapping near by that gave her the idea. She stared at it for a moment, before she clawed at the pouch on her belt to drag out her whip. She hauled it up, sinking her teeth into the synthetic leather as she twisted the base and used nothing but brute strength to snap the case free. She hauled the wires free, ignoring the sparks of protest from the weapon.

She had no idea what she was doing, really. Just the vague notion of electricity being able to knock the heart into another rhythm and the idea that her whip might have been at a low enough voltage to do just that.

There was nothing to hold the opposing charges with but her hands, and there was no second guessing as she sunk her teeth into the trigger. She hissed out against the metal and relished in the pain that sprung up her own arms as the electricity caused his body to jerk under her.

The smell of burnt flesh and hair started to drift into the air around them, but all Nisha could do was pant for her own breath as her own heart lurched in response to her little stunt. She tightened her legs around his hips, snarling out a muffled curse as she pressed the wires against his flesh again and bit down again.

The second jolt had her vision going white around the edges, and the pain seemed so very distant. Her body was sluggish, and slow to respond. Focus, she had to focus. F _uck the pain. Fuck the legion. Fuck vaults. Fuck moons_. _**Fuck slutty clown whores**._

Nisha was so caught up in her half unconscious slander, she didn’t notice the rise of the programmer’s chest. Too busy trying to force her hands to set themselves back on his chest for another go. Her body was shaking, and she was just about to sink her teeth into the trigger again when she noticed a set of bicolored eyes rolling up to stare back at her in a confused daze. 

Her jaw slackened, and the handle of her whip slipped out to land right on his chest— covered in saliva and all. _Attractive._ He simply winced and it was all Nisha could do to lean down and gather his face between her burnt hands to kiss him _roughly._

“ _Fuck you, fuck this place, fuck your fucking company_ —-” Nisha was growling all of this out against his mouth.


End file.
